


Episode 2: A Crack In The Glass

by Galaxy_Collector, robinwritesallthethings



Series: Words To Live By (Season One) [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Canon, Beacon Hills High School, Beacon Hills Lacrosse Team, Canon Rewrite, Canon Universe, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Language, Pre-Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Pre-Relationship, Pre-Slash, Scott McCall & Stiles Stilinski Friendship, Snarky Stiles Stilinski
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-07
Updated: 2020-07-07
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:21:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25026883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Galaxy_Collector/pseuds/Galaxy_Collector, https://archiveofourown.org/users/robinwritesallthethings/pseuds/robinwritesallthethings
Summary: As Scott struggles to find a reason for his newfound abilities, he refuses to believe Stiles’ outlandish theory that he’s become a werewolf, even with the bite to prove it.
Relationships: Allison Argent/Scott McCall, Lydia Martin/Jackson Whittemore
Series: Words To Live By (Season One) [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1804672
Comments: 9
Kudos: 12





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> ATTENTION: This is a ground floor rewrite of the entire series. While we absolutely adore the actors and the characters they helped shape and mold, the series left a lot to be desired in terms of satisfying character arcs and developments. Due to this, we have decided to rewrite/reimagine the entire series from episode one forward.
> 
> Everything you know about Teen Wolf that was shown on screen may appear in the subsequent seasons/books in the same manner, but a lot has changed. Also, please understand that while Sterek is end game in every sense of the word, this is a very intricately plotted series rewrite by two professional screenwriters. It is slow burn and it is angsty and there will be romance and smut and all the goods, but it is not going to happen overnight. We want each arc to be fully developed and we want the lore to be without plot holes.
> 
> We sincerely hope you like it and while we do not blame Jeff Davis or any of the show writers, we just think the studio probably gave them a framework that was never going to work. Therefore, we thought we'd help them out a bit.
> 
> xoxo,  
> GalaxyCollector

_ “A what?” Scott whispered, looking up at Stiles with wide eyes.  _

Scott knew there was no way he had heard his best friend correctly, because what had just come out of his mouth was absolutely insane. Certifiable even. Stiles had finally cracked or something, because he knew there was no way his best friend in the entire world, a boy he had known his entire life, was asking him to suddenly believe in supernatural creatures of the night. 

He continued to stare at the crude picture in front of him of a werewolf, not sure where he should go from here. 

Stiles finally dropped it on the bed after another few seconds of Scott’s stunned silence and started to wave a hand in front of his face. 

“Hey, Scott,” he said, snapping his fingers. “Hello? Earth to Scott. Please say something. Anything.”

Scott couldn’t reconcile how sincere he sounded. He seemed to believe whatever he was trying to sell Scott on, which made no sense to him. Stiles was one of the smartest people he knew, if you didn’t count Lydia, of course. 

He finally shook his head and blinked. “What do you want me to say, Stiles?” he asked quietly, treading as lightly as possible. 

Stiles threw up his hands and then put them on his hips. “Gee, I don’t know,” he scoffed. “How about that I did a great job. That I’m the best friend a werewolf could ever have?” He paused and stared down at Scott as he paced in front of him now. “I should be running and screaming for the hills, dude, or haven’t you seen a movie before?” 

Scott tried to keep his face passive as Stiles ranted. That was always the best tactic with him. Make no sudden movements. 

“But here I am,” Stiles continued. “And I’m hoping I can help you through whatever comes next.” 

Again, the sincerity was there, but it didn’t fit the situation at all. It was too much, in fact. Too misplaced. Too out of touch with the words he was saying. 

Scott kept staring at Stiles, waiting for him to finally break character and tell him he had some weird reverse mono or something, but when he didn’t change his stance at all, Scott burst out laughing. He couldn’t help it. 

“Are you  _ laughing _ at me?” Stiles whispered, appearing mortally offended. “You are. You’re fucking laughing at me, dude.” He threw up his hands again. “I can’t believe this. You have no idea what’s about to happen to you, dude.”

Stiles ran his hand over his face and shook his head again before he lurched forward, causing Scott to jump slightly at the unexpected motion. He scrambled to pick up all his research that was now scattered all over Scott’s bed, but he kept dropping it and picking it up repeatedly as his hands shook. 

The entire scene was absurd and Scott was finding it harder and harder to stop laughing. Now that he knew Stiles believed this, like honestly believed it, it made the entire thing even more ridiculous.

“Yeah, keep laughing, asshole,” Stiles mumbled. “When you turn into a giant dog at the scrimmage on Friday, or during your date with Allison, don’t come howling at me, okay?”

The mention of Allison’s name, though, made him stop, and his laughter died as quickly as it had come. 

“What… what do you mean my date with Allison?” 

Stiles stopped too and stared at him in disbelief. “Umm, it’s a full moon on Friday,” he explained easily. “Don’t you know  _ anything _ about werewolves? They change during the full moon.”

“Why would I know anything about werewolves, Stiles?” Scott insisted. “And how was I supposed to know it’s a full moon on Friday? Who knows those things?”

“Well, I looked it up when I thought my best friend might be turning into one,” Stiles countered. “But since you don’t care about that, like, at all, I’m just gonna leave you to figure it out on your own. Cool?”

He nodded once and then started back through the still open window, falling twice before he actually made it out. Stiles never failed to make Scott smile, even though what he was saying was crazy.    
  
He stopped and poked his head back in one more time. “Text me when you’re ready to talk.  _ If _ you're ready to talk,” Stiles added.

He didn’t wait for Scott to respond, so he didn’t bother yelling down after him. It was way too late to have a shouting match from his window right now, even if they weren’t technically yelling at each other because they were mad. 

He didn’t figure his neighbors would appreciate it either way, and it didn’t matter. By the time he moved to his window, all he could see was Stiles’ retreating form. His hands were shoved in his pockets and his shoulders were slumped, instantly making Scott feel like shit about the whole thing. 

It was never his intention to make Stiles feel like the kid no one listened to, no matter the topic. He got enough of that from literally everywhere else in his life. 

Scott pulled out his phone quickly, not sure what he was going to say, but knowing he should say  _ something _ . Anything. Stiles shouldn’t go to bed feeling that way. 

But as he looked back to his bed and saw every bit of Stiles’ research still strewn about there, he knew he was fine. Stiles had a knack for using the same tactics. And this was one of them. He knew exactly what he was doing. He had used those puppy dog eyes on Scott before, and it usually worked. 

He shook his head again, put his phone back on his desk, and started to scoot everything to the end of his bed in a neater pile. He refused to look at any of the research, of course, knowing it wouldn’t make a damn bit of difference. 

He didn’t now, and he would never, believe in werewolves. They weren't real and he wasn’t turning into one. End of story. 

When he got it into a stack, he put it on the floor, knowing if he left it there, he’d kick it off and have a bigger mess to deal with in the morning. He yawned wide again when he had finished tidying everything enough to go to sleep. 

As he slipped off his shirt and shoes, still on from where he’d fallen asleep at his desk studying, he couldn’t help but think about that damned picture. The red eyes and the jet black fur would’ve been enough to fuel his nightmares, but he knew what did him in was the fact that Stiles thought he was capable of that kind of monstrous behavior. Even against his will. The kind that maimed. The kind that destroyed lives. 

The kind that killed. 


	2. Chapter 2

Stiles squinted at Scott as the other boy wrapped the end of his lacrosse stick with new tape, leaving Stiles to scream obscenities at him in his head. It had been almost four whole days since he’d spoken to Scott, and to say he was slowly losing his mind was an understatement. 

For one thing, he’d lost it years ago. And it wasn’t entirely Scott’s fault, but this not talking thing was new. Stiles, for one, wasn’t used to going this long without talking to his best friend. But Scott seemed perfectly content. Hence the incessant internal dialogue, mostly comprised of rather colorful and creative cuss words. 

Stiles knew what the real problem was, though. He thought he meant more to Scott than all this. But no. It was obvious his loyalties lay where his dick took him. And right now, that was in Allison Argent’s direction. 

Not that Stiles didn’t get it. She was cute. But she wasn’t never-talk-to-your-best-friend-again cute. 

To his credit, Stiles had _tried_ to come up with a good reason for their separation before he resorted to the quiet brooding he was now participating in. 

First, he started with the fact that to most people the idea of werewolves was absurd, and Scott had every right to be weirded out by what Stiles had said. But Stiles wasn’t _most_ people, and now neither was Scott. 

Then he tried rationalizing everything to do with Allison. Sure, they’d had crushes and little girlfriends and boyfriends over the years, but this was not that. This felt different. 

And Stiles Stilinski loathed change. 

“All right,” Derek said suddenly, appearing out of the coach’s office, “we’re doing something a little different today.”

_Fucking wonderful_. _More change_. 

Stiles rolled his eyes as he half-listened to Derek, tying his laces tighter and trying not to scoff out loud. 

“We’re going to scrimmage each other. I canceled with the other team this afternoon. We’re just gonna split the team in two. Jackson’s captain of one. Coach will be in charge of them. And McCall is going to be the other team’s captain. I’ll coach that one,” Derek explained. “Any questions?”

“Uh, yeah,” Scott said, raising his hand timidly. “Why?”

“Good question, McCall,” Jackson added. “Why do we need to play each other? How does that help?” 

“It helps because Coach says it does,” Derek answered in a bored voice. “Ready?”

“No,” Jackson admitted. “I’m not going to waste my time. So, if we’re just doing, like, a glorified practice, I’m going home. I have shit to do.”

He stood up, banging shit around in his locker loudly as every eye turned on him. Even Derek, the usual calming presence in the room, seemed on the verge of telling him off for being a brat. His nostrils were flaring slightly and he was clutching the clipboard tighter than Stiles had ever seen. 

“That’s fine,” Coach Finstock said quietly, leaning against the doorframe to his office. “I guess McCall can be the new captain.”

Jackson’s movements ceased instantly, and everyone around Stiles perked up like they couldn’t even begin to comprehend what was happening in front of them.

“Wh––what?” Jackson stammered.

“This is to see who wants captain more, Jackson,” Coach offered easily, a smirk playing on his lips. “You can leave if you want, but then you just forfeit. You’re not the big dog on campus anymore. You gotta _earn_ it.” 

Coach pushed off the doorframe and started toward Jackson, who still had his head pointed into his open locker. 

“You’re not the only one who doesn’t suck anymore, Jackson,” Coach continued. “I think this idea that the captain position is in the bag is a little silly. Don’t you?” 

There was sarcasm dripping from every word he said, and Stiles had to admit that while he probably didn’t mean it this way, he sounded way more menacing than normal. As if this was a life or death situation, and Jackson choosing wrong would destroy him. 

Which, Stiles had to admit, might be closer to the truth than Coach knew. Jackson’s whole future hinged on lacrosse and everything that had always come with it for him. And it wasn’t that his parents couldn’t afford it, but college was competitive. And Jackson needed this. Even if he wouldn’t ever admit it out loud. 

“Or don’t you want it, McCall?” Coach asked loudly, turning to face Scott. 

“Oh, I, uh…,” Scott stammered again.”That sounds good.”

“Prove it,” Finstock commented. “Let’s go!” 

Stiles watched closely as Scott scrambled to his feet, almost tripping as he started toward the door. Every single eye was now watching Scott as he went, and Stiles had to admit it wasn’t exactly all rainbows and sunshine with that goddamn bite. But the truth was that he had it, and there was no point denying it.

That’s what had gotten him into this mess, for one.

Stiles followed behind everyone else slowly, not too excited to get out there and watch Scott crash and burn. It also didn’t help that since Scott wouldn’t be riding the bench with him, he’d be alone, no matter which team he ended up on. Stiles knew that all that strength and stuff wouldn’t amount to anything if he had no idea how to control it. 

And the stage five denial Scott was in proved that he was _not_. 

By the time Stiles made it out to the field too, Derek was motioning for him to hurry. Which made no sense. He scoffed finally, not sure why Derek cared if he showed up at all. It wasn’t like he was going to play. In fact, on a normal night, Stiles was pretty sure he could show up in just a tank top and Daisy Dukes and no one would even notice. He had contented himself with being the one they skipped over on the bench when deciding who to put in next. And he liked it that way. At least he knew what to expect. 

As childish as it was, he was starting to miss Scott sucking as much as he did. 

Stiles sat down hard on the nearly empty bench as he watched everyone else get their normally assigned positions. He turned to look up at the stands and wasn’t surprised to see them mostly packed. There wasn’t much to do in this town any other day of the week either. Even when you were the sheriff. 

He saw his dad and gave a small wave, trying to pretend like everything was okay for a second, when he heard Derek yelling something in his direction. 

“Stiles! You’re midfield. Go!”

“Me?” he asked, turning around and pointing a finger to his chest. “Why?”

“Because you’re on the team?” Derek answered. 

The inflection of his voice at the end made it sound like more of a question, and Stiles wasn’t sure how he felt about that. 

He stumbled off the bench, just like Scott had done earlier, and trotted toward the field. He forced himself to remember all the different aspects of actual game play, something he had never really had to worry about before, as he passed Derek. But the minute he did, Derek grabbed his forearm. 

“Watch Scott,” he whispered harshly. 

“Huh?” 

“Watch him,” Derek repeated. “Make sure he doesn’t get too… worked up.”

Stiles snorted. “You’ve met him, right?”

Derek huffed his disapproval at Stiles’ sarcastic attitude. “Just watch him.”

“Fine,” he agreed, jerking his arm away. “I’ll watch him.”

Stiles jogged toward Scott and his huddle, not that far from Jackson’s team, and stayed far enough away that he was listening but not involved. He didn’t want Scott to think he was completely forgiven. 

But the minute he smiled in Stiles’ direction, he returned it. Like a knee-jerk reaction. An instinct. 

Damn him. 

Stiles gave one more backward glance to the stands as they settled on a play, and couldn’t help but smile at his dad’s reaction to seeing him on the field. He was the only one standing, of course, and was clapping like he’d won some award, which he most certainly had not. 

But it was nice someone was excited for him. 

Scott sure as hell wasn’t focused on anything but himself. Which, in this instance, made sense. He was allowed to be selfish right this minute. But that was it. After he survived this, he was back to square one with Stiles hating his guts for choosing a girl over him and his completely rational advice and research. 

Like he had always imagined it might, being on the field made every moment blur together. And before he knew what was happening, they were calling a time-out. Derek hashed out some more strategies and sent them back onto the field, Stiles understanding the dynamics a little more. But certainly not enough. 

He only managed to sort of get the crap kicked out of him by Danny and some of the others that were way bigger than him, but overall he had a good time. The pain of this wasn’t near as bad as the other he was experiencing, no matter how dramatic that felt. This kind of a pain was a dull ache, and he could deal with that. 

Scott’s thing was a knife to the heart, and made it hard to breathe. 

Stiles’ dad came and gave him a pat on the back and a hug as soon as they were finished, promising to take him out wherever he wanted for dinner. And Stiles couldn’t help but smile at him, grinning ear to ear over this supposed small victory for his son. Even if they had definitely lost to Jackson’s team. 

“Good job, Stiles,” Lydia offered sincerely, giving him a small wave. “You coming out with us later?”

“Uh, no,” he answered harshly. “I’m not invited.”

“Well, I invited you,” Lydia retorted. 

“I’m heading to dinner with my dad,” he said, the anger evaporating. “Thanks though, Lyd. I appreciate it.”

Then Stiles shot a look back at Scott, who was eyeing them carefully, and if Stiles was correct, had been listening just as easily as if he had been standing right beside them. As much as he hated fighting with him, Stiles took some sick pleasure in knowing that Scott was aware he was allowed to come and wasn’t showing up because he didn’t want to be around him, not because Scott was refusing to accept the truth. 

It helped. But only a little. 

Stiles walked along with everyone else, not waiting for Scott to catch up for the first time ever. It felt weird. It was like his legs didn’t want to work, but he made them. He wasn’t about to be the one who broke the tension first. Scott had caused it all. He was going to fix it. Stiles wasn’t going to walk him through it. 

He was a big boy. He could do that much.


	3. Chapter 3

Scott watched closely as Stiles disappeared into the parking lot with his dad, his arm around his son’s shoulder as he kissed his temple. He couldn’t help but smile at the interaction, even if it faded quickly after. 

He hated this. 

“Hey,” Allison said quietly next to him as they walked. “You okay?”

Scott could only nod, but didn’t trust himself to talk. He didn’t want to unload his drama on her. He was pretty sure that’d be a real quick way to get her to leave and never speak to him again. And right now he had enough of that on his plate with Stiles. He didn’t want to add to it. 

“You’re still not talking, are you?” she continued. 

He shook his head, hanging it slightly. “Nope.”

“You ever gonna tell me what you’re fighting about?” 

He looked over at her and tried to put a small smile on his face, but he wasn’t sure if it was coming off the right way. 

“It was nothing, really,” he lied. “Just stupid teenage boy stuff, ya know? That’s why I kinda thought he’d be over it by now.”

She nodded thoughtfully, and Scott hoped she wouldn’t press too hard. He wasn’t sure he could lie to her more than that. It already felt awful enough as it was, even if telling her would get him some pretty funny looks. 

“Maybe he just needs more time,” she offered. “I mean, I know you guys didn’t win, or whatever, but he got to play. Lydia said that wasn’t, uh, very common. That’s gotta feel good, right?” 

“Yeah, I guess,” he admitted. 

“His dad seemed happy. It was super cute,” she commented, making his smile for real this time. “Lydia was too.” 

“Lydia was happy Stiles was playing?” Scott asked, unsure Allison was seeing things correctly. “She wasn’t cheering for Jackson?”

“Oh, she was,” Allison backpedaled. “She just, uh, seemed happy for Stiles too. You know? Like a friend thing. It was sweet. Jackson didn’t seem mad,” she tacked on quickly. 

“Oh, uh, right,” Scott stammered. 

“Hey, what if you asked him to come out with us tonight?” she suggested, hopping beside him as she got excited by her own plan. He couldn’t help but smirk at how adorable she was being. “I mean, we could find him someone to hang out with so he isn’t a fifth wheel. Does he have a crush on anyone?”

“Stiles has a crush on everyone,” Scott teased. 

Allison wiggled her eyebrows. “Everyone? Really now?”

“Definitely.” 

They both laughed easily at the insinuation as a car pulled up beside them and her eyes shifted to the sleek black SUV in front of them.

“My dad must’ve gotten here early,” she mentioned casually. “I’ve gotta go. I’ll see you later, okay? We’ll think of something.” 

He nodded as she leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek, making his eyes widen in surprise. 

“I promise,” she said, hopping into the front seat. “Okay?”

“Okay,” he said, nodding again. “Yeah.”

“See you soon.”

She gave him a little wave as he raised his hand stupidly in return, watching as she drove off. As his hand dropped down slightly, he touched the part of his face where her lips had just been, still in awe of the feeling. 

His skin was tingly in the spot. And the simple gesture carried him through running home, dropping off his lacrosse gear, and getting ready for their date. Before he could even really process what was happening, he was standing at her door, too scared to knock. 

He was about to meet her dad and mom, and he wasn’t sure he was ready. This wasn’t a position he found himself in that often. Or ever, really. He didn’t have any practice with this sort of thing. 

He wasn’t Jackson. Who, currently, was in the car with Lydia waiting for him to make a move. They both gave him a thumbs up and he shook his head with a small chuckle as he finally knocked. 

Allison appeared quickly, ready to go. Thankfully, it wasn’t too bad since her dad was gone and her mom just waved at him from the door. It also helped that Allison seemed pretty anxious to skip the entire rite of passage as well. And Scott wasn’t about to complain about his good fortune. It would run out eventually, but tonight was all about the date. And he could deal with that. 

He hoped. 

They rode in the back of Jackson’s Camaro, their fingers inches from each other as they made their way to the bowling alley. Scott spent his time wanting to reach out and just hold her hand, but he knew he wasn’t brave enough for that. Not yet. He had already talked himself out of the meaning of the kiss.

It couldn’t have meant when he wanted it to since she was Allison and he was still just Scott. 

When they finally made it, he didn’t miss that she made a point to stick to his side as they went through the process of checking in and getting shoes. She even stayed when Jackson and Lydia snuck off to their lane and started to set everything up. 

They kept catching each other’s eyes over the counter as they waited, but it wasn’t long before he was distracted by his super sensitive hearing. And the mention of his own name. 

“I heard you making nice with Scott,” Lydia commented. “What’s up with that? I thought you were under the impression he’s cheating or something.”

“I am,” Jackson whispered back. “I figure if I butter him up a bit, he won’t suspect it’s me who reported him to Finstock. Or even Derek. He might even tell me what’s going on.”

“Ahh,” Lydia cooed, a hint of sarcasm in her voice. “I knew you were more than a pretty face.”

Jackson chuckled and went back to typing in everyone’s name as their shoes finally appeared in front of them. Allison, of course, noticed Scott’s change in demeanor, and he knew he had to work on that. Because she saw way more than she should. 

Which did mean she was paying attention. He just wasn’t sure this was the kind he wanted, no matter what was going on with him lately. 

“We’ll go first,” Lydia answered brightly when they got close enough. 

She hopped right up and then bowled before Scott had even finished switching out his shoes, getting her first strike. 

“Good luck,” she said in a sing-song voice, giving them both a wicked grin. “You’re gonna need it.”

Jackson tried, and failed, to cover his laughter with a cough as he got up next. He wasn’t quite as good at Lydia, but he still managed a spare. 

Of course, all this did was make Scott feel like shit when he hit gutter ball after gutter ball. He didn’t remember being this terrible at bowling before, but maybe his newfound powers didn’t extend to all _areas_ of his life. 

Stiles would probably say it was to keep him humble.

He couldn’t help but get frustrated, though, and by the time the pizza was delivered, he was ready to leave. He kept gripping his thighs tightly, his fingernails digging into the skin there, even through his pants, and breathing deeper than was normal for the situation. 

Allison sat down beside him and put her head on his shoulder as soon as her turn was finished and his entire body relaxed for a moment. Just a moment, though, because it wasn’t long before he heard Jackson and Lydia teasing him. 

He knew they weren’t doing it to be mean. They weren’t mean people, for one thing, but it didn’t sting any less. Not since this was his first official date with Allison. 

“Hey,” she said, moving his face until he was looking into her eyes. “You okay? You’re doing it again.”

“Doing what?” he asked through gritted teeth. 

“Freaking out. Getting all up in your head,” she answered, smiling softly at him. 

“I should be… better at this,” he admitted. 

“Is that what’s bugging you?” she asked, her eyebrows perked. “It’s not a big deal, Scott. We’re all just having fun, right? I don’t care if we win.”

“I already lost once tonight,” he muttered, ducking his head. 

Out of nowhere, Allison reached over and grabbed his hand, pulling him to stand up with her. “Come on.”

He did as she said, but he was dying to know what she was up to. Again, he wasn’t brave enough to ask, but that didn’t make him less curious. 

She led him into a tiny hallway that was separate from the rest of the place, away from all the noise and lights. And before he could ask any questions, she pushed him against the wall and started to kiss him with no warning. 

Not that warning would’ve helped. 

For a moment, the briefest of seconds, he stood frozen. He couldn’t function. His brain was literally melting out of his eyes, he was pretty sure. Because there was no way Allison Argent was kissing him. Certainly not like _this_. 

“Scott,” Allison said softly. “Kiss me back.”

And then, as if a dam had broken, Scott couldn’t get close enough to her. His hands were suddenly everywhere. He pushed her up against the other wall and grabbed her sides, squeezing her hard and kissing her back roughly. She didn’t seem to mind, her own hands finding their way to his neck. 

Scott growled under his breath and every muscle in his back tensed and tightened, causing him to stiffen in a way he knew wasn’t normal. His eyes popped open and his vision pulsed with a red hue. He took a step back and forced himself to look anywhere but directly at her, unsure if he’d be able to control himself either way. 

Allison stayed pressed up against the wall, and when Scott did peer up at her for a split second, she had the dreamiest look on her face. Her eyes were still closed, and when they began to flutter open, she gazed happily in Scott’s direction. 

“Um, I have to, uh…,” his voice trailed off as he pointed toward the bathroom. “I’ll be right back.”

Allison giggled as he all but ran toward the door, looking quite pleased with herself and the reaction she had caused in him. 

He didn’t have time to think about it for long, though, since he nearly tore the hinges off the door when he raced into the brightly lit room and peered into the mirror. He grabbed the porcelain sink with both hands and his eyes widened as he saw his eyes flash a deep yellow. He nearly tripped over himself as he backed away from the sight, almost taking the sink right off the wall in the process. 

Every memory from the night of his bite started to come back too. The whine of the sink at his house as he leaned on it with strength he didn’t recognize. The way the door had creaked wildly at his intrusion. 

“What the hell?” he whispered, trying to force all the images and sounds out of his brain. “This isn’t happening.”

His heart raced and the noise took over completely, beating loudly in his ears as he tried desperately to regain control of himself and the situation. 

Scott put his hands over his face in an effort to block as much out as possible, failing spectacularly when he noticed long yellow nails now tipped his fingers. 

He pulled his phone out of his back pocket, fumbling with the device with the new additions, and clumsily dialed Stiles’ number. He would know what to do, Scott reasoned. He would help. 

_As long as he wanted to pick up the phone_ , he reminded himself. 

“Pick up, Stiles!” he screamed into the mouthpiece. He growled again when a few more rings sent him to voicemail. “Stiles, something is happening to me,” he whined. “I… I think you were right. I’m coming over.”

He hung up and then slipped out of the bathroom, glad Allison had enough sense to not be waiting for him. There was no way to hide the way he looked right now, and he didn’t have a good enough excuse for it anyway. 

As he passed their lane he could see Allison sitting in the chair beside the one Scott had just vacated, Jackson and Lydia not far away in their own little world. She wasn’t paying them any attention, instead staring off into space with that same giddy smile. The smile that Scott wanted to believe was the result of him. 

He paused by the door, wanting nothing more than to go to her. But with his mouth clamped shut, his hand still in his pocket over his phone, he squeezed his eyes regretfully and slipped out the door before anyone could notice anything was wrong. 


	4. Chapter 4

It was Friday night and Stiles Stilinski was staring at his ceiling like some lovestruck teenager who couldn’t stop thinking about the person they had a crush on. Like some kind of idiot. Except it wasn’t his crush at all. It was his best friend. The same best friend that refused to accept reality. 

_Butthead_. 

At least, he reasoned, his insults to Scott in his head had become a lot less imaginative. Of course, now he sounded like a five-year-old, but he’d take it. This way he could see himself getting over it whenever Scott finally came around instead of hanging onto the bitterness forever. 

His hands were propped behind his head as he watched the fan, letting it lull him to sleep. There was no point in wondering what Scott was up to since it wouldn't do anything but make him more frustrated. And a frustrated Stiles wouldn’t be able to sleep. 

As much as he hated it, he just needed to go to sleep and deal with whatever happened next with a clear head. Or as clear as it ever got with Stiles anyway. 

His phone dinged from somewhere close by and he rolled his eyes as he went to check it. Even though he’d listened to his dad already give a play-by-play of each time he got the ball, he didn’t doubt he had remembered something else and was texting to fill him in. Stiles couldn’t help butsmile at his dad’s excitement either way, though. 

It was certainly better than the alternative. 

But when he pulled up his phone, the screen was emblazoned with Scott’s name, not a text from his dad. Something was wrong. Scott had no reason to call him. Unless the full moon was finally cresting and Scott couldn’t deny what was right in front of him anymore. 

He sat up on the edge of his bed and pulled the phone to his ear with shaky hands. The message played quietly, but the frantic edge to Scott’s voice was unmistakable. It had happened. It had finally fucking happened. And Stiles hadn’t been there for him. 

He shook his head and jumped up, embarrassed that his bruised ego and Scott not believing him had gotten in his way. _He_ had gotten in his way. Again. 

God, idiot didn’t begin to describe it. 

As he paced beside his bed, wondering how best to handle the situation. He could stay in his room and wait for Scott to find him, probably, or he could go searching for him and hope he found him before Scott did something monumentally stupid. Either way, he didn’t see a case in which they weren’t already in some sort of trouble. 

Surely he hadn’t been capable of keeping it a secret in the bowling alley. Or on the way out of it. Or through town. 

He shook his head again just as a loud bang at his window caused him to yelp. He clutched his chest right over his heart as he took in the thing on the other side of the glass. 

He recognized parts of Scott, but they were carefully hidden behind the golden irises and fangs that Stiles was seeing now. Even though he knew this was real and true, it completely went against everything he knew of the world. 

Stiles watched and stared at Scott in horror as he carefully pulled up his windowpane, his long yellow fingernails gripping the wood. Then an impossibly sinister growl echoed through his room as he entered slowly, rumbling somewhere deep in Scott’s chest. 

He wanted to scream. Stiles knew he should. That he needed to, but he couldn’t find the strength. It was like he was trapped in one of those dreams where you’re frozen and there’s no way out. No one to hear you. No way to make a noise. But in this, Stiles knew there was no waking up. Because he hadn’t fallen asleep. This would just be it. 

Scott continued to stalk closer and closer to him until he was inches from his face. Then he roared and Stiles stood planted in the same spot Scott had found him when he’d jumped on his roof outside his room. 

When he finished, Stiles swallowed hard and lifted his hand to wipe off his face. “Say it, don’t spray it, dude,” he teased. 

Scott, in turn, cocked his head to the side and raised one eyebrow before he started to laugh. The sound was an odd mix of growl and bark, but gradually became normal again as his fingernails and fangs retracted, his eyes even shifting to brown once more.

And then Stiles was laughing too. The ridiculousness of the situation catching up to both of them left no other reaction. 

When they managed to get it back under control, they were laying on the carpet next to each other, their hands behind their heads. They were staring up at the ceiling just like Stiles had been not ten minutes before when he was alone. 

Before the world had been flipped on its side. Before the point of no return. 

“I’m not sure what you did, man, but, uh, thanks,” Scott offered. “So… I’m thinking you were right. Because that was…”

“Intense? Wild? Hairy?” Stiles finished for him. 

Scott chuckled. “I was waiting for that, actually. Never happened. Just my eyes, fingernails, and teeth. I think.”

He sat up and put his head in his hands, rocking back and forth a bit as the anxiety that was so commonplace with Scott started to take over. Stiles sat up quickly too, rubbing his back. 

“What am I gonna do, Stiles?” he asked. “I literally ran out on my date with Allison. Just disappeared. She’s gonna think I’m an asshole and never wanna date me again.”

Stiles blinked rapidly for a second before regaining his composure. Even if he thought that was the absolute last thing Scott should be worried about, it didn’t matter. This wasn’t Stiles’ thing. If it kept him from ripping Stiles’ face off, it was probably a good thing. 

And it was a part of the problem that Stiles might actually have an answer for. 

“I know it’s not what I should be worried about,” Scott admitted. “I just really like her, Stiles. And, for once, the girl I liked, liked me back. How many times can I get that lucky, ya know?” 

Stiles nodded solemnly and then held out his hand. “Give me your phone.”

“Huh?”

“Give me your phone. We can fix this,” Stiles said. “We’re gonna text her that you came down with the flu or a stomach bug or something. Something gross. So she doesn’t come over to check on you.”

Scott put his phone in Stiles’ hand without a word and then put his chin on his shoulder as he watched him type. Even though he didn’t want to, he made sure to list all the reasons Scott was sorry and would make it up to her at the earliest possible convenience. Stiles wasn’t all that romantic, but he could fake it when he needed to. And Scott needed this. 

He pressed send before Scott could overthink it and then handed it back, not needing to know Allison’s answer. 

“Now, we’re gonna talk about you wolfing out. Okay?”

Scott swallowed hard and nodded, looking down at his screen and smiling when it vibrated in his hand. Thankfully, he pocketed it again without tethering himself to Allison any further and turned back to Stiles. 

“She said she totally understands and hopes I get better soon,” Scott commented. “When did you get so smooth, Stiles?”

He snorted and shrugged. “I have my moments.” Then he bit the inside of his cheek and looked around his room as they fell quiet again. “Okay. We need a plan. And a plan starts with information.” 

“Oh no, you’re talking about one of your…”

“We’re going to make a conspiracy board,” Stiles announced excitedly, rubbing his hands together. 

He headed straight for his desk as Scott groaned loudly behind him. “Dude, I thought you promised you’d stop making those.”

“I never promised any such thing,” Stiles lied. “Come on. They’re fun.”

“And what happens if your dad comes in and sees your werewolf conspiracy board, Stiles?”

He shrugged as he continued to pull things out of his drawer and stacked them on top of the desk. “I’ll tell him it’s for fun. Or a school project,” he reported. “I’m weird, Scott, in case you haven’t noticed. This isn’t even gonna break the top ten for him.” 

Scott laughed quietly and nodded as Stiles turned back around. “Okay, fine. Can’t argue with that. Let’s make a conspiracy board, I guess.”

“Adorable that you think I was asking permission,” Stiles joked, winking at him. 

“Do you need me to go get all the stuff you brought me last night?” Scott asked. 

“You really thought I didn’t make two copies of everything?” Stiles scoffed. “You don’t know me at all, do you?”

Scott laughed again as Stiles pulled out his yarn and mountains of papers he had printed off since he last spoke to him. He worked like he always did, in a frantic, chaotic flurry. But when he stood back half an hour later, he was pleased with himself. 

“So, uh…,” Scott started, breaking the silence first, “what does it all mean?”

“I have no idea. Yet,” Stiles answered truthfully. “We have to figure out how it all connects.”

He took out a sticky note and wrote KNOWN on it before slapping it on the board too. “This is all the stuff we know is true right now,” he announced. “You got bitten. The kind of things that are happening. Stuff like that.”

He picked up another sticky note and wrote UNKNOWN on it before he placed it beside another stack of papers. “This is everything we don’t know. Myths about vulnerabilities. Urban legends. Ya know?”

Scott glanced between the known and unknown side of the board and pointed out the obvious. “Um, there’s a lot more stuff on the unknown side.”

Stiles sighed heavily. “What’d you expect? We didn’t even know werewolves were real until this week.” 

Scott nodded and Stiles shrugged. “Did I miss anything?”

“Oh, uh, the bite is back,” Scott said. “It’s more like a scar now, but…”

“Show me.”

Scott pulled down his shirt on the one side and showed Stiles his shoulder, leaving him to scrutinize it from every possible angle, nodding occasionally. He scribbled a few more notes down and slapped it on the KNOWN side. 

“What’s the third group?” Scott asked. 

“Oh, uh, stuff that doesn’t fit anywhere else. Questions we have. Like miscellaneous, I guess.”

“There’s a lot there too,” he murmured. 

They both lapsed into silence again before Stiles spoke up. “I’ll be honest, dude. I have no idea where to start.”

“It’d be nice to know what made me change. Was it just the full moon? Or something else?” 

Stiles shook his head. “I don’t think so. I don’t think laughing and relaxing would’ve been enough to get you to stop eating me if you were forced to change by the full moon.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

“How were you feeling when you started to, uh, change?” Stiles implored. 

“I was upset because I wasn't good at bowling,” Scott answered, like he was talking more to himself than to Stiles. “And then Allison took me off to talk and we started to, uh… make out, I guess. That’s when it got real bad.”

“Oh, so you were _excited_ excited,” Stiles replied, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“Yeah,” Scott answered, blushing. 

“So maybe if you’re calm, or whatever, you're fine. But anything else and you risk changing?”

“Then… what’s the full moon thing for?” Scott asked. 

“Well, it’s not technically a full _full_ moon until tomorrow.”

Scott smiled and laughed. “The full full moon?”

“Oh my God, Scott,” Stiles scolded playfully. “Do you know how the moon works?” Scott shrugged. “It waxes and wanes, right? So right now, while basically full, it’s not technically full. And if it being full is so important to whatever is happening to you, that technicality might be working for us right now.”

Scott nodded, and Stiles could tell the nervousness was setting in. “So you think that tomorrow I’m going to…”

“Completely freak out whether you’re angry or turned on or not?” Stiles shrugged. “Yeah, probably.” 

“What am I gonna do, Stiles?” Scott whined slightly. 

Stiles ran a hand through his hair. “We’re gonna have to use the process of trial and error here. We’ll restrain you and I’ll watch you, starting tonight. Maybe we can figure out how it’s going to happen better and maybe even figure out a way to stop it.”

“Okay,” Scott answered slowly, “But where are we going to do it? Your dad is used to weird shit in your room, but this might push him a little too far.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” Stiles sighed. “Oh!” he said, snapping his fingers. “How about the clinic? You said your boss is gone for the weekend, right?”

“Yeah, so it’s closed, but I have the keys.”

“Perfect,” Stiles said. “There should be cages and stuff, correct? And if you accidentally howl or anything, it’s an animal clinic. So no one will think it’s weird.” 

Scott nodded, but didn’t tear his eyes from the board in front of him. And Stiles understood. Well, as much as he could. He certainly couldn’t put himself in Scott’s shoes anymore. That was off the table forever. 

“Look, Scott,” Stiles said, standing next to him. “I know you’re freaked out. I’m sorry I abandoned you all week too. But we’re gonna figure this out. I won’t let anything happen to you, okay?”

“You’re… not afraid of me?” Scott asked, putting his head on Stiles’ shoulder. 

Stiles shook his head and wrapped an arm around his now much broader shoulders. “Not on your life, buddy. You weren’t scary before, and you’re sure as shit not scary now. Even with those teeth.” He let his words sink in before he continued. “You’re not going to hurt me, Scott.”

Stiles could feel him relaxing further. “Let’s get some clothes together for both of us and then head over there. I don’t wanna find out the hard way that I was wrong. Again.”

“Yeah, okay.”

“Besides, being a werewolf can’t be worse than being a teenager,” Stiles contended. “Remember that one time I took the Jeep out with only my permit?”

Scott laughed. “Yeah, we didn’t even make it down the block. We were grounded for a month.”

“Exactly. It’ll be fine.”

“Thanks, Stiles,” he said. “For everything.”

“Yeah, yeah. Let’s go pack your shit. We gotta get outta here.”

Scott and Stiles gave the board one last look before he let go of his best friend and started to stuff clothes into an empty duffel bag nearby. 

Damn him for asking the gods for a more interesting Friday night. Stiles knew better than to put that shit out into the universe.


	5. Chapter 5

Scott stood at his locker a few feet from Stiles, but it might as well have been a million for how well he was paying attention to his surroundings right now. 

He had his backpack in front of him and was stuffing homework he had never gotten around to the previous weekend in his locker without a care. 

Not that Stiles didn’t get why Scott would be lost in his own head right now. He did. He got it more than most. But that’s what happened, he supposed, when you spent over 48 hours making sure your best friend got enough sleep, water, and food. Oh, and made sure he stayed inside a cage built for man’s best friend.

Stiles took a deep breath and approached him, trying to make as much noise as possible, not wanting to startle him. 

He clapped him on the back. “Hey, man. How ya feeling?”

“Fine, Stiles,” he answered unconvincingly. “Stop asking.”

“We made it through,” Stiles retorted, wrapping an arm around him. “Yeah, it was kinda… intense. But other than that one time when you tried to rip my face off, it went great.”

Scott winced again when Stiles mentioned their close call, but he didn’t see the point in pretending it didn’t happen. There was no denying what they’d both confronted all weekend. 

Not anymore.

“Let’s just call it a victory, right?” Stiles continued. 

“Stiles?”

“Yeah, man?”

“I was thinking…”

Stiles groaned internally and outwardly shook his head. “Nope. No way. You’re not gonna do that thing where you backpedal on me because it’s easier. Don’t do that to me, man. You owe me this much.”

“It’s just that…”

“No,” Stiles interrupted again. “Cut it out. I mean, I left you alone for a few hours last night and you’ve already decided it didn’t happen? How’s that possible, Scott? Do you really think it’s possible to just walk around like you aren’t a supernatural creature?”

“Let’s just look at this objectively,” Scott insisted, shutting his locker. “I came over when I was upset about the Allison thing. Maybe… maybe it was that and I just have, like, rabies or something. Maybe one of the dogs at work bit me.”

Stiles couldn’t stop shaking his head as he put his hands on his hips. “Rabies? Are you fucking with me?” he whispered harshly. “First of all, you’d have a ton of other symptoms. Fever, paralysis, brain stuff,” he listed off, holding up a finger for each one. “Second of all, you’d probably be dead by now, because you have to treat rabies, like, immediately. You don’t have rabies. Trust me. And besides, you’d remember being bitten by a dog that hard. It would have to break the skin.”

“Well, uh… whatever bit me in the woods could’ve had rabies, right?”

Stiles huffed. “Dude. Please. You don’t have a disease.”

He could tell Scott was grasping at straws here to regain some semblance of normalcy, but they were so far past that. He needed to get a grip, even if it made him mad at Stiles for the time being. 

“Well, isn’t there, like, a werewolf disease or whatever?” he hissed. “Wasn’t that on your board?”

Stiles chuckled darkly. “No. Clinical lycanthropy is all psychological. You’d  _ think _ you’re a werewolf, not be denying it.” He paused and then spoke again before Scott could get another word in. “And the other one was hypertrichosis. Sometimes called werewolf syndrome. But it just makes you really hairy all over. And we talked about this. It’s super rare. I’m pretty sure it’s mostly noticed when you’re born. You’d know if you had it by now. And you didn’t even get hairier, so…”

“I’m just trying to find something that makes more sense, Stiles,” he blurted out. “If werewolves were real, we’d know. Right?”

“Why?” Stiles snorted. “Why would a werewolf tell  _ anyone _ that’s what it was? Do you not pay attention in history class? There are stories about these things, Scott. Perfectly innocent people getting killed because people  _ think _ they’re werewolves and vampires and witches and shit. If they were smart, werewolves would definitely not tell anyone they existed.”

“Okay, fine,” Scott said, swinging his backpack around. “But that doesn’t mean I’m one, though.”

Stiles debated letting Scott have it, right in the middle of the hallway, but he knew it wouldn’t help. Scott had been yelled at enough by his dad growing up, and Stiles had been there for most of it. He knew that he’d just shut down. It was his most used coping mechanism. It had served him well, too. Now it was just a switch that got turned on and off when someone close to him got upset. Even when it wasn’t directed at him. 

Not the right approach for the situation, Stiles knew, even if it was justified. 

They began to walk slowly toward their next class, standing side by side. “Dude, I’m just asking for the benefit of the doubt here,” Stiles explained. “If you can find something that explains the strength and the fangs and all that jazz, be my guest. But pardon me for not wanting to see my best friend get dragged off to Area 51 when he goes to the hospital and they find something crazy in his DNA.”

Scott squinted in confusion for a second before turning to Stiles. “Isn’t Area 51 where they keep the aliens?”

Stiles bit his lip to keep from laughing. “You’re missing the point. It’s not about Area 51, or Area 69, wherever they keep werewolves. It’s about keeping you and everyone we know safe.”

He looked over as he cracked the joke and saw a small smirk playing on Scott’s lips, but it disappeared just as quickly as it had shown up. 

“You think I have weird shit in my DNA?”

“I can only assume, dude,” Stiles said. “It had to have altered something, right? Something fundamental. You have  _ fangs _ .” 

“Could we find out?” Scott asked, ignoring Stiles’ assessment. “Like, before I go to the hospital? Because that’s probably the best option.”

Stiles sighed, unable to hide the exasperation anymore. “I have no way to do that. I mean, getting your blood would be easy enough. But what would I do with it? I’m sure your Mom’s gonna notice if someone puts in the order for  _ your _ blood.” 

“Don’t the police have, like, DNA kits or whatever?”

Stiles stopped walking and Scott did too as he blinked slowly, dumbfounded by the question. “I seriously have no idea how you would survive without me as your friend, Scott,” he said quietly, shaking his head again. “My Dad has to send any analysis away. There would be a record of it and it’d take forever.”

“Fine,” Scott said, clearly resigned. “Can we…”

Stiles followed Scott’s line of sight when his words dropped off and saw Allison waiting nearby, looking as nervous as Scott. “This conversation is over, isn’t it?”

Scott put his hand on Scott’s shoulder, but never tore his eyes from Allison’s hopeful ones. “For now, Stiles. Just for now, okay? I have to go apologize in person. Since I’m better.”

Stiles nodded and put his hands in his pockets. “Yeah, go. It’s fine.”

Scott finally turned back to him, which was more than Stiles thought he’d get. “Look, I appreciate what you did for me, okay? I do. And that you’re still looking for answers. But I wanna look at all the options before I am forced to accept something crazy.”

“Makes sense,” Stiles said, not lifting his head up. “Just go.”

He didn’t have it in him to watch Scott leave, having seen enough of that in the past week to last a lifetime. So he just turned on his heel and went toward the door he had passed while he was wrapped up talking to Scott. 

It was better this way. At least Stiles didn’t have to keep being the bad guy. And since the next full  _ full _ moon was a month away, he let Scott have this. There was no point interrupting his daydreams now.


	6. Chapter 6

Deaton walked up behind Scott slowly as he worked his way down the kennels, cleaning them out like he always did. Methodically. It was the one of the many reasons he liked Scott. One of the many reasons he trusted him. He’d never known anyone his age to care about something the way Scott seemed to care about this job. 

He knew about his home life, of course. Everyone in Beacon Hills did. Nothing was a secret here, for one. But Scott’s was especially tragic, so that lent itself to being notoriously well-known in most circles, though in very hushed tones most of the time. 

Either way, it was nice to have him around. Deaton could leave him to work and know that the job would be finished correctly, the first time, when Scott said he was finished. 

A rare quality, even among some adults. 

But today seemed different. Not necessarily in a bad way. Just that he _felt_ different. On edge, maybe. If auras were something that Deaton believed in, Scott’s would be pulsing an angry color that signaled all sorts of new stress in his life. 

“Scott?” he asked gently, standing behind him. 

At the sound of his voice, Scott jumped and Deaton instantly felt sorry for startling the boy. When he whirled around, it was Scott who appeared guilty, though the reason for it wasn't clear. He hadn’t done anything wrong. Not that Deaton could see. 

“Hey, Alan,” he answered shakily, rubbing a hand on the back of his neck. “Uh, sorry. Guess I spaced out for a second.”

Deaton shook his head. “It’s all right, Scott. Are… are you okay, though?”

“Uh, yeah,” Scott said, the tips of his ears turning pink. He was hiding something. “School’s just started. And I think I might be lacrosse captain soon. It’s just a little… much.”

“That’s totally understandable,” he said, nodding along. “I’d be surprised if you weren’t distracted.”

He offered Scott a timid smile before heading over to the kennel he had been meaning to ask Scott about since he had walked in this morning. He knew Scott had a key, and it had been his job to check in on those animals boarded each morning and evening while Deaton was away the previous weekend, but something wasn’t adding up. 

He took a few steps around Scott and then motioned toward the mangled door on one of the cages. “Do you know what happened here? I don’t remember it being like this when I left on Friday.”

The color instantly drained from Scott’s face, which meant he did know. It was just a matter of how much he planned on telling Deaton and what kind of trouble he was in. 

“Uh, no,” he clearly lied. “We had a big, uh, Rottweiler in here this weekend. Maybe he got a little rowdy. I wasn’t here the whole time. I didn’t even notice until yesterday night when I took him out. I’m sorry. I was gonna fix it,” he rushed to say. 

“Oh, you’re fine,” Deaton added quickly. “I just wasn’t sure. I’ll get it replaced. Don’t worry about it. Besides, the walls seem fine. Just a few scratches.”

“Yeah,” Scott agreed. “Cool.”

His eyes never strayed as Deaton placed his own hand over the scratch marks, noticing the way it was the same space as a hand. Not a paw. And while Deaton knew that Scott was lying, he thought he may have figured out the reason why. If he was right, they were all in a much bigger situation than Deaton had originally assumed. And bigger in Beacon Hills usually meant badder. 

Nothing here was ever easy. And he knew that all too well. 

“Did you, uh, want me to clean it?” Scott asked hesitantly. 

“No, let me get it fixed first. I’ll let whoever replaces the door handle it.” 

“Okay,” Scott said, forcing a smile. 

He looked up at Deaton for the smallest moment, but it was enough. Enough for Deaton to see proof in Scott’s eyes. They were a deep yellow, and it was only a split second, but he didn’t miss it. And he knew what it meant, unfortunately. 

Though where any of this would’ve occurred was beyond him. And why the Hales weren’t handling it was lost on him as well. It was possible, he guessed, that they didn’t know. But not probable. Which just confused him more. 

“Scott?” Deaton asked again when he ducked his head. “Are you feeling all right? You seem a little… off.”

Scott shrugged, and that seemed like the first honest thing he’d done or said since he walked in after school. 

“I had, uh, the stomach flu this weekend,” Scott lied again. “The worst of it’s over, but I’m pretty tired.”

Deaton nodded again, trying to get Scott to look his way once more, but it didn't happen. He seemed embarrassed. Or scared. Both of which were understandable. But it wasn’t like he could reach out to Scott like he needed right now. 

He could only fix one of his problems. 

“Why don’t you take off after you finish this last cell?” he proposed. “I won’t dock your pay. Just take some time for yourself.”

Scott’s mouth twitched at the corners, from what little Deaton could see. Then he nodded and turned back to the last cell. 

“Thanks, Alan,” he said softly. “I will.”

Deaton reached out and gave his shoulder a squeeze as he passed. He wished desperately that he had more wisdom to give, or that he could talk to him about it at all. But it wasn’t his place. It was the Alpha’s, and Deaton was no Alpha. He was only the emissary, the guide. Not the teacher. And he had been born for this role. It was one he took seriously. 

He just hated that it now extended to Scott and he couldn’t even tell him. This was the boy he had watched grow up. The one who had nervously trotted into his office and asked for an application when he was a freshman in high school, the minute he was eligible to be on anyone’s payroll. He was the boy who had grown up before his eyes, never late, never tardy, and absolutely never disrespectful. 

He couldn’t possibly begin to know what had happened to that boy, but he wasn’t a boy anymore. And he would soon find that out. 

Deaton watched Scott for a moment from the door and then headed to his office. He was the emissary first. He was Scott’s boss second now. 

He walked straight to his desk and pulled the keys out of his pocket that would unlock the bottom file drawer. The one no one was allowed in and that was for his eyes only. The one that held Beacon Hills’ greatest secrets. 

He pulled it open, revealing an assortment of strange objects. The same ones that only made sense to him. Clear glass bottles all clearly marked and with unrecognizable content to anyone that wasn’t supposed to be in here. 

Tucked in the side drawer beside everything else was his journal. He wasted no more time as he pulled it out and flipped through the pages. They were written in ink, and some of it was faded, but most were still readable, even at a glance. 

He found the page he was looking for and took a pen out of his front breast pocket, hesitating for a moment under the column KNOWN BEACON HILLS WEREWOLVES. 

He hesitated for two reasons. The list used to be much longer. Now there were several whose names were crossed out. Friends. Family. People he had come to love and be loved by. And people he would never talk to again. Now it held only two names. Peter and Derek Hale. 

They were all that remained of any life that had come before the one he knew now. 

But the other reason he hesitated was much simpler. He didn’t want to put Scott’s name there. He didn’t want to accept the truth. He didn’t want to condemn this boy, even if someone else had already done it for him. 

Putting his name here meant more than Scott understood at this point. 

So he did the only thing he could think of. He wrote his name, and then placed two neat question marks next to it. If there was even a chance it wasn’t true, he would gladly admit that he was wrong. 

But he knew that wasn’t the case. He had seen the truth. He just wasn’t ready to accept it. 

_What a wild and dangerous place the mind can be sometimes_ , he thought. _A wild and dangerous place indeed._


	7. Chapter 7

Stiles sat down hard on the wooden bench in the locker room, still visibly pouting from Scott’s attitude about the whole werewolf thing. And he was going to keep on pouting until his best friend pulled his head out of his butt. 

But that didn’t look like it was happening anytime soon 

“Why am I here again?” he said, letting his irritation seep into his voice. “Can’t you find someone, I don’t know, good to play against?”

“Because, Stilinski,” Coach yelled, coming out of his office, “you and McCall are some weirdo package deal, and I need someone he and Jackson can practice against while we get them working as one seamless unit. I’d like to, ya know, win some games this year.”

He ended his rant like he always did: with a scoff. And then headed out the door. As soon as it swung closed they could hear him yelling, “Five minutes!” as he continued down the hallway. 

When they were alone again, neither of them talked. Neither of them, it seemed, wanted to deal with the fifty ton elephant in the room. 

“You are good, Stiles,” Scott responded after another excruciatingly quiet moment. “You just get nervous.”

Stiles rolled his eyes, lacing up his shoes. “Too bad I can’t be more like you,” he maintained. “What I wouldn’t give to be suddenly faster and stronger and all that.”

A locker further into the cavernous locker room slammed shut and both Scott and Stiles jumped at the noise. It didn’t take long for Jackson to appear, with Stiles still clutching his chest when he came around the corner. 

“Jackson, you scared us,” Scott laughed uneasily. 

“Yeah, well, I apologize, but I’m not fucking sorry,” he spat at them. 

Scott blinked rapidly and took a step back toward the bench. “Huh?’

Stiles finally took in Jackson’s demeanor and was a little taken aback himself. He hadn’t seen Jackson that angry before. He looked downright pissed. 

Something was wrong, but Stiles couldn’t think of what that might be, or how they could have caused it. It’s not like they had been talking shit about him or something. 

“Look, I played nice this weekend, all right? I know Lydia didn’t want me to bring any of this up and cause a fuss, but I can't do this anymore,” he started. “I was so ready to have someone on the team on my level, no offense, Stilinski, and I kinda hoped we could work together, but I fucking knew it. I knew you were on something. What is it? Steroids?” 

“I, uh… practiced a lot over the summer,” Scott stammered. 

God, he was bad at lying. But Stiles nodded along behind him, frozen on the bench where Jackson had found him. 

“Yeah,” Stiles piped up. “All day everyday, dude. He was like a machine.”

Jackson snorted derisively. “Please. I just heard you say it, Stilinski. You wish you could be like him. Suddenly faster and stronger. Three months isn't sudden.”

But at once, Jackson’s attitude shifted. He seemed softer somehow. More gentle. Which was just as confusing as how this whole thing started. 

“Look, I get it,” he continued. “You wanna be good. Like me. Who wouldn’t want that?” Stiles raised his hand to try and diffuse some of the tension, but no one was looking his way so he put it down. “But this isn’t the way to do it, dude,” Jackson said forcefully. “That shit is bad for you, and it’ll ruin any chance you have of going pro. If that’s what you want.”

“You’re… you’re mad because you think I’m doing steroids and you… you’re worried about _me_?” Scott asked, trying to work it out in real time. 

Jackson shook his head in disbelief. “Of course, McCall. Why else would I be upset?” He threw his hands up in frustration. “You’re not better than me, and even if you were, it won’t last because it’s drugs. Just… get your shit together, all right? I’ll even give you a chance. I’ll help with detox. Whatever you need. I can pay for it, if you wanna hide it from your mom. But if I even _think_ you’re still on this shit next week, I’m gonna tell Hale. And you know he’s way stricter about that shit than Coach. So… figure it out.”

Scott and Stiles watched as Jackson headed out to the field behind Coach, unsure of what to say or if they should even respond as he retreated. He had come to the complete wrong conclusion, but it was kind of sweet of him to offer to help like that. 

“Uh, well that was… nice of him. I guess,” Stiles said, chuckling low. “Good luck with that, by the way. Since you’re a _werewolf_ and not experiencing a bout of ‘roid rage and all. That’ll be _real_ easy to explain, I’m sure.”

Scott shook his head again, still not ready to deal with it. And while Stiles knew it shouldn’t shock him, it did. He wasn’t sure how much more proof he could show Scott before he caved to the inevitable. 

Because it _was_ going to happen. 

“Let’s just get this over with, dude,” Scott insisted. “Before Coach kills us all.”

Stiles knew he was being dismissed, along with the conversation, and he knew it was for the better too. Scott would get there. One way or another. 

Thankfully, practice didn’t last all that long, and Coach seemed positively giddy by the time they finished. His plan to make them work as one team was going perfectly, since they had ganged up on Stiles pretty well. 

So much so that when he dragged himself toward his car later, it didn’t even register that someone was leaning against his Jeep. He was too busy concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other and saving his last remaining brainpower for making it home in one piece.

Which was why when Derek Hale seemed to pop up out of the concrete in front of them, he almost yelped in surprise. But it caught in his throat when he told them why he was there. 

“You two idiots have _got_ to stop talking about werewolves so loud,” he said casually, as if he was discussing the weather. “Someone's gonna overhear you. Someone _other_ than me.”

After the initial shock wore off, a new kind of adrenaline started to course through his veins. One he knew well. The one caused by being right. 

And boy was he right this time. 

“Why don’t you seem shocked?” Stiles asked, matching his tone. 

Derek shoved off the Jeep, his eyes flashing a bright blue color that Stiles had never seen before. It was one that completely encompassed his normal, human color. 

Just. Like. Scott. 

“I’m a werewolf too,” Derek replied. “So the three of us need to fucking talk.”

**Author's Note:**

> P.S. If you have any questions or concerns regarding differences in canon and our fanon rewrite, please leave us a comment. We'll answer each one! Thank you so much for reading!
> 
> You can also hang out with me on Tumblr and request things here: [the-galaxy-collector](https://www.the-galaxy-collector.tumblr.com)
> 
> Or at my _Teen Wolf_ Discord Server here: [ The Beacon Hills Preserve](https://discord.gg/xm24uP6)


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